Either a fuse had blown, or the bulb had burned out. Hal had to shove hard, until it gave and she stumbled into the chilly darkness, groping for the automatic timer switch that governed the lights. Tonight, though, the neighbors seemed to be out-and had been for some time, judging by the way the door stuck on the clump of junk mail in the hall. Now the only benefit to living up three flights of narrow, rickety stairs was not having to listen to neighbors stomping about above your head. But since then taller, grander buildings had gone up, closer to the sea, and any view the windows of Marine View Villas might once have had was reduced to brick walls and slate roofs, even from Hal’s attic flat. Maybe there had been once, when the houses were built. And there was no view-not of the sea or anywhere else. There were no villas, only a slightly shabby little row of terraced houses, their paint peeling from constant exposure to the salty air. In fact, away from the wind it seemed to drizzle more steadily, if anything, as she turned again into Marine View Villas. But she hitched the parcel tighter under her arm and turned off the seafront into one of the narrow residential streets of tall white houses, where the wind dropped with a suddenness that made her stagger and almost trip. Hal’s short black hair blew in her eyes, her glasses were misted, and her lips were chapped with salt from the sea wind. on a wet Tuesday, Hal had the promenade to herself, the flashing lights of the pier the only sign of life, apart from the gulls wheeling and crying over the dark restless waters of the channel. But tonight, even the most hardened partygoers had decided against venturing out, and now, at 9:55 p.m. The bars and clubs were open long into the night, spilling drunk locals and tourists onto the pebbled beach right through until dawn. It was rare for the seafront to be completely deserted. The girl leaned, rather than walked, into the wind, clutching the damp package of fish and chips grimly under one arm even as the gale plucked at the paper, trying to unravel the parcel and send the contents skittering away down the seafront for the seagulls to claim.Īs she crossed the road her hand closed over the crumpled note in her pocket, and she glanced over her shoulder, checking the long dark stretch of pavement behind her for a shadowy figure, but there was no one there.
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